


The Devil You Know

by celsius



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Crack, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-29
Updated: 2014-10-29
Packaged: 2018-02-23 01:46:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2529470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/celsius/pseuds/celsius
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cullen was the only Templar to survive the demons that were summoned at Kinloch Hold.  </p><p>Or so he thought.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Devil You Know

**Author's Note:**

> I made a series of jokes on Tumblr about how Cullen's hotness upgrades could only be explained if he were really a desire demon. Specifically, a desire demon that possessed poor human Cullen, wandered into a glyph trap, and lost its memory of ever having been a demon. 
> 
> Then fic happened. 
> 
> Oops?

Trevelyan finds him ten paces within the rift, or perhaps it is ten miles. Distance means little, here, to a mind that has grown accustomed to correlating maps with terrain. Her Commander is exactly as far from her as he needs to be.

Not that he is likely to see it that way.

Cullen's dreamscape is unlike any she has seen before. In truth, it is not a dreamscape at all -- merely a transparent boulder in the echo of a harbor. The only solid part of this place is the mirror hangs in front of him. Cullen looks at it and not at her.

Trevelyan's eyes narrow.

"You missed the end of the battle," she says.

"Yes," Cullen replies.

"But from my presence here, you have no doubt deduced that Fourth Division managed to secure and hold the Rift site."

"Maker be praised."

Cullen does not make any further effort acknowledge her. Cannot manage a wave or even a courteous nod of the head. His words drip with slow, dull sarcasm, and their poison does not suit him in the slightest. 

Trevelyan had hoped she would not need to deal with this as though disciplining a recalcitrant lab assistant, but here they are, and the Rift _must_ be closed soon, and she was always every youngster's least favorite tutor.

"Would you mind telling me, then, why my general absented himself from the fray to go sulk on an imaginary rock?" 

She steps up behind Cullen, close enough to grab him by the shoulder and shake him if she wanted to. 

She does not. 

"Did I authorize to leave of your post, soldier?" Trevelyan continues. "Or do you take more issue with a mage's authority than I was given to understand?"

That finally gets a rise out of her wayward subordinate. He turns, slowly, and smiles a most discomfiting smile. His eyes are ringed with purple. His ringlets -- loose from their grease -- form the suggestion of horns. 

"What would you have of me, Inquisitor?" His voice runs like hot wax, thick and pliable, and if Trevelyan's wits were any less sharp, then she would surely have missed the bleakness in it.

But she is a woman of reason, and this place is the stuff of her flesh. Trevelyan will not be threatened here.

"Kindly inform me as to why your conduct is not a gross breach of military etiquette."

"I will do no such thing. My conduct has been... unforgivable." This close, Trevelyan can see that the man might have been crying. She carefully declines to take notice. "Have you been guided here to kill me?"

"Why should I kill someone who, by all accounts, began glowing purple, drew his sword, and singlehandedly reversed what would have been the worst rout this Inquisition has experienced? How does such an action benefit the Bride or myself?"

Cullen exhales, low and mirthless, and Trevelyan cannot not blame him. It was a foolish question. He smells like dusty books and fine Tevinter tea. It is not the first time that Trevelyan has wanted to press her nose into the back of his neck. 

They both know exactly why she should send him to join that poor dead boy whose life he stole so long ago.

"They wanted to be saved. They _wanted_. It made me strong. And then I knew, and then I ran," Cullen said. Murmured into the shell of her ear, like a proposition; a mad and desperate moment waiting to happen. "Kill me, Herald of Andraste. Weigh my sins and find me wanting. Blessed are they who stand before the corrupt and the wicked and do not falter. For the sake of this world, I would see you be exalted." 

It is Trevelyan's turn to snort. When will these people learn? She is not a judge, she is a _researcher_.

Trevelyan places her hands on Cullen's forearms and and pushes him back. All at once the charm is broken, and he looks suddenly, achingly hopeful. 

Precautions will need to be taken. She can make those precautions happen.

"Solas informs me that spirits within the Fade are mutable beings. What exactly do you think you know about what you are?"

"I can want things too," Cullen says, as earnest as he's ever been.

Trevelyan ruins the moment by shaking her head.

"Well, that's hardly inspiring. I think you need to leave taxonomy to someone more qualified. " She holds out her hand to him. The scarred one -- the one that means something. "If what you are is what concerns you, then you should come with me to find out."

It takes him a long moment to answer, and an even longer one to take her hand.

"I suppose I should."


End file.
